Iridescence
by REB Jenn
Summary: A bit of a fairy tale involving young Jack Sparrow and his penchant for attracting the otherworldly.
1. Set Adrift

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Iridescence

Disclaimer: This story was written for entertainment only and I am making no profit from it. "Pirates of the Caribbean" and Jack Sparrow belong to Disney; I am only borrowing them and no harm is intended with this story. Please do not post elsewhere without permission from the author.

This story was written long before _Dead Man's Chest,_ with its hints that Tia Dalma gave Jack the compass, and before it was known that Jack's father is alive and may appear in _At Worlds End_. So be warned it is no longer canon-compliant.

"A little mermaid flopped up on deck and told him the whole story."

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**Set Adrift**

They hanged John Michael Sparrow on the fourth of June, and right up until the rope snapped taut, Jack was convinced his father had some plan up his sleeve to hatch an escape. The crewmen who'd escaped would storm the gallows; the hangman would turn out to be an old drinking mate willing to slice John Michael free of his bindings; the rope would break.

It was hot, and Jack was suffocating in the layers of thick cloth they'd dressed him in. The shoes pinched, and the deacon's fingernails pinched crescents into the side of his neck where his hand lay heavy as shame on Jack's small shoulder.

"C'mon, Da, c'mon then," Jack whispered. His heart were flapping harder'n a torn sail in a hurricane. His dark eyes flicked back and forth across the line of bound men, the log walls of the fort, the red-coated guards at the gate.

This small outpost of the Crown hadn't had enough gallows to handle all the captured men at once. A hastily erected post-and-beam structure stood alongside the regular trio of gallows, a half-dozen men perched atop wooden barrels with ropes about their necks. John Michael Sparrow was second from the end; at his right hand, Mick had his eyes squeezed shut, his lips moving silently; and on his left, Scup was swaying slightly already, his eyes dazed with drink.

He musta bribed a bottle from the jailer, Jack reckoned, and he squirmed against the deacon's sharp fingers, wanting to worm his way up to the front so as to be ready when Da's own bribe kicked him free.

The deacon gave the boy a shake hard enough to rattle his head on his neck. "Be still, you heathen spawn! Pay attention and do not fidget."

A stir went over the assembled crowd, and an officious man hustled forward and mounted the platform beside the gallows trees. Ink-smudged hands unrolled a parchment, and he cleared his throat and began to read.

The words were the same as from the day before, read out by the man with the fearsome wig in the stifling room where they'd made Jack sit still on a hard wooden bench. They'd not let him scamper over to where his Da were shackled with Mick and Scup and Powder and the others, the Cap'n on the end with an extra chain about his neck. Jack didn't want to listen to the words again; they were just a fancy-like way of saying the crew were pirates and had stole what didn't belong to them. Jack knew that already; he just wanted to know when his Da, John Michael Sparrow, would be slipping cleverly free of his ropes, leaping down off that keg, snatching his hand, and spiriting them both from under the noses of the bedeviled redcoats.

"C'mon, Da," he whispered.

A drummer commenced beating a slow tattoo, and anticipation made Jack's feet twitch. Somewhere off to his right, a woman began screaming-- it were Isabella, Cap'n's woman.

There was a scuffle, curses, the crack of a hand against flesh. Isabella's shrill cries choked off.

"Da," he rasped. He coughed, tried again. "Da, c'mon, let's go... "

"Silence!" The deacon's hand clenched, twisting Jack's collar tight to his throat.

Isabella was screaming again, the sound thick and muffled as though forced through cloth, and the hangman was moving, stepping forward... throwing the first lever. The Captain jerked down, down behind the adults crowding in front of Jack, down so all he could see was the top of the first gallows, black against heat-bleached sky, and a stretched-tight rope, quivering hard.

A roar went up, inhuman in its eagerness, and for the first time, Jack was truly afraid.

Isabella went silent; rounded with Cap'n's babe, she would faint when she breathed too rapid-like. The babe in her belly were all that were keeping her from a place at Cap'n's side today. They said they would hang her once she were delivered of her child, but Jack hoped his Da would rescue her when they scarpered off. He liked Isabella-- she knew hundreds of songs, and she often gave him an orange when an errand brought him to Cap'n's quarters. He swallowed hard and strained against the deacon's hand, trying to catch his father's eye.

The hangman was moving down the platform, throwing levers one after another, crewmen dropping from sight behind the teeming crowd. Jack elbowed the deacon's puffy gut and hopped up and down.

"Da!" he roared, suddenly finding his voice.

And miracle of miracles, John Michael Sparrow's dark eyes swept the hot, dusty parade ground and pierced the packed mass of spectators to find his son.

There was a 'thump' as the hangman kicked the first of the barrels from beneath a crewman's feet. John Michael didn't spare a glance, even though a second thud quickly followed. His eyes never wavered from the desperately frightened boy below him.

"Jack."

Another 'thump'; another mate disappearing with a thick snap.

"Run, boy!"

Scup, beside John Michael, peered down as the hangman appeared before him, confusion written across his drink-blurred features. Before he could grasp what was happening, he dropped away, rope singing with sudden tension.

"_Fly!_"

Jack heard the thud of the hangman's boot connecting with the barrel. In disbelief, he saw his father's body shoot down out of sight behind the cheering townsfolk.

Not possible. Not _possible._ Da-- brave, laughing, always at the center of some bit of deviltry-- Not _Da!_

Never once had he been hurt-- no shot had ever touched him, no sword ever sliced him, not even a knock on the head. The others joked about John Michael's uncanny luck, teased him for his secret. He had no scars, had lost no fingers to line or cutlass, never even stepped on a fishhook.

It were _not possible_ for John Michael Sparrow to die on a hangman's rope.

The deacon was laughing, his florid, self-righteous face tipped back to heaven. Sheer fury so hot he broke into sweat washed over Jack, and he exploded into a cyclone of kicks and punches, pounding the man's sober black arms and legs with every scrap of strength he possessed.

"Here now!" The deacon was no longer laughing. "Stop that at once!" He bent over to pinion the struggling boy's limbs.

And Jack reared up and slammed his head full into the deacon's face.

The man fell back with a clogged gasp, hands flying to catch the sudden gush of blood, and Jack was free. He dove forward, shooting between the legs of the merchants crowding the foot of the gallows. A lace-bedecked skirt blocked him, and he squirmed past, earning a clout on his ear.

"Don't soil me, you little ruffian," snapped the woman.

The blow sent him sprawling beneath the skirts of the woman's maids, and they shrieked theatrically and danced aside. Jack scrambled forward on hands and knees, ignoring the kicks and curses aimed at him. He broke free of the crowd and leaped to his feet.

And came up right at the base of the makeshift gallows.

Six bodies swayed slowly like grotesque laundry on a line.

Scup had a huge puddle of piss beneath his feet, already drawing flies. Mick's head-- hell's bells-- Mick's head were near sideways to his body. There were a pushing mob 'round Cap'n's tree, fighting for souvenirs.

And Da...

Someone grabbed the back of Jack's coat, snapping him out of his frozen horror.

"Cob here, you filt'y cur... "

Jack hunched his shoulders and dropped to his knees, sliding neatly out of the coat. He scrambled across the dusty ground on hands and feet with his seat in the air, like the monkeys Da had shown him down in the jungles.

"Stob hib! Stob dat boy...!"

He vaulted the keg that had been under poor ol' Mick's boots, skinned past the baffled redcoat at the back of the gallows, and pounded towards the gate. The redcoats there gave no notice to a small boy in dusty garments of the gentry, no doubt giving his governess the slip, and Jack was through the gate and down the road before the bloodied deacon could raise the alarm.

.o.

.o.

Miniscule air bubbles gloved her body, catching the sun slanting through the prism of the water and glowing eerily blue. Persa rolled with delight, turning her head to watch her luminescent skin.

_Mam, look, I'm moonlight!_

Coyla hummed distractedly. _Yes, Persa._ She pumped forward, eyes darting. _I don't like the taste on the current today,_ she sang, low.

_I'm a moon jelly, Mam!_

_Hush, Persa._

Coyla streamed forward, trailing hair threaded with shell and coral and disks of bone. Persa wiggled in her wake, sobered despite the beautiful aquamarine light of the shallows.

_Mam? What taste?_

Coyla struggled to find the song that would explain. _Hate,_ she finally thrummed. _Evil._

_I don't understand._

_I know._ She circled, circled, finally settling on the white sand below, beckoning Persa. Her fingers fluttered, summoning a likeness to float between them. _The shark-- the cruel one._

_Black Streak,_ Persa trilled with fear.

_Yes. He kills not just to eat, but for lust of the blood-smell in the water. Because he craves the taste of terror in the currents. That is evil. Cruelty._

Her fingers trailed, swirled. Gathered image and set it before Persa's wide eyes. _Happiness can draw Black Streak, yes?_ She pulled her hand back to reveal a cluster of the Folk, curled laughing on the rocks in the deep green, holding seagrass streamers, conch horns, a coral flute.

Persa hid her eyes when she saw their faces. _Yes,_ she cried, in mourning song.

Coyla nodded. _To seek out joy, only to rip it apart for the pleasure of seeing it turn to agony-- that is evil. Do you see now?_

_Yes, Mam._ Persa waved her small fingers ever so gently through the likeness, dispersing it. She rolled into her mother's white arms, curling miserably against her. _Is Black Streak in the shallows?_ she sang in a small voice.

_No. But something like him is near here. I can taste the cold-bloodedness seeping into the current._ She rolled upright, setting Persa gently aside. Arms tight to her sides, she gave a strong beat and shot upwards. Sand whirlpooled in her wake, tickling Persa's skin, who wiggled after her mother.

The water lightened, both in weight and in color. They broke surface, hair sleek to their heads, droplets sliding down their cheeks. Coyla narrowed her eyes against the sudden dryness.

Land was before them, inhabited land, blocky with the strange ugly shelters the humans constructed. The largest structure loomed along the edge of the water, heavy tree trunks fitted together atop squared-off stones to form a huge barrier. A square opening on one side bled a steady stream of humans, and some of the bizarre four-legged steeds laced to rolling boxes.

Persa nipped out her tongue, trying to taste what her mother did, but all she sensed was a rank, heavy smell that made her wrinkle her small nose.

_It's something to do with the humans,_ Coyla sang. She swished the water uneasily, and raised up, shoulders and chest above the waves, head tilted back as she tasted the scents rolling off the land.

Abruptly she sank back. _They've killed their own kind,_ she sang in a short burst. _And they enjoyed doing it._

She spun and clasped Persa's shoulders. _You will go north below the waves, Persa. To the cove that is empty of humans. You will stay there in that cove until I come for you, and you will not stray to any human settlements. Is that clear?_

_We were going to watch how the humans live, Mam,_ Persa sang, subdued.

_Not today. Today they killed some of their own for entertainment. I do not want my daughter seeing the results of such barbarism. Is that clear?_

_Yes, Mam._

_Go, then._

_What will you do, Mam?_

Coyla hesitated. Then she reached out, smoothing Persa's tangled hair, straightening some of the charms ornamenting the wet strands. _I want to see what they did, how they did it,_ she sang, and sorrow drummed in the melody. _See if I can mark how it started, and by whom. The more I learn, the better I can warn our Folk. For every tide brings more of them to these waters. Someday they will no doubt discover us, and we must be prepared. We must understand what they might do to our people if they treat their own the way a shark treats a plaything._

Persa nodded. Her chest-- the place where tears started before they reached her eyes-- was tight. _I liked some of them,_ she sang in a tiny voice.

_I know._ Coyla's song was infinitely kind. _I did too._

Then she put her hands on her daughter's small shoulders and turned her around. She gave her a nudge and sent her flipping down beneath the surface. With a blue-green shimmer, Persa was gone.

Coyla sighed with sorrow and turned back to the land. Squinting against the brilliance of sun on water, she began to search for the best approach to the humans' domain.


	2. Washed Ashore

Iridescence

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Washed Ashore

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.He ran as he'd never run before. Church deacon be damned, it were devils behind him.

He'd kicked off the stiff, hard shoes as soon as he'd cleared the gate, and shucked the wool waistcoat in the next stride. In stocking feet, he flew down the road as Da had ordered. The fine white woolen turned brown to his ankles from the dust-churned road.

When the morbid noise of the fort died into the distance, Jack slowed long enough to hop along on one foot, pulling off first one, then the other stocking; wadding them up, he hurled them ferociously into the ditch. Then, barefoot, he ran on.

He ran until he was dizzy, the heat drowning his lungs. There was a tree at the roadside, small, twisted from the seawinds, stunted from salt spray. Jack staggered to a halt, slumped against its rough bark. He scrubbed his red, sweaty face on his sleeves and gasped.

The wind were blowing in off the sea, calling him with promises and clean, briny scent. He hugged the trunk with one arm and slid 'round it, looking out across the meadows and marshes to the water beyond.

He had to be getting off this blasted land. He had to be finding a way back onto the sea, where mates didn't get shoved into dark, stinking cages and fathers didn't swing from black trees.

But Da were gone, Cap'n and the men were dead, the few remaining crew scattered to the four winds. The _Siren_ lay on the ocean floor with a hole in her side big enough to drive a carriage through.

He pressed his cheek to the lichened bark while he tried to work out what Da would want him to do.

The wind snaked through the tree branches, scraping them slyly together. Jack froze. It sounded just like the creak of ropes rubbing against a cross-beam, ropes swinging under the weight of their burdens. He hardly dared look up.

_Creak-squeak-creak..._

He exploded into motion again, tearing down the road away from the ghosts' voices. This time, he kept running even after he could no longer draw breath.

Near asphyxiation finally dropped him, first to a broken stagger, then to his knees. After a pause, he toppled slowly sideways and rolled beneath the sword-leaved plants at the side of the road.

His lungs scorched worse'n the time the tavern caught afire, and there were a terrible stitch in his side.

Knuckling his fist hard into his waistband, Jack rocked quietly back and forth, leaf-points jabbing his sweaty skin.

A long time later, the whisper of the sea roused him. He sat up, shoved fronds aside, and wavered out into the harsh sunlight. His knees ached from pounding solid ground. Salt breeze caressed his cheek and he turned his face into the wind.

The road had curved inland away from the sea as he'd run along it. At some point in his blind flight it had swung back oceanward again. Now Jack followed the nearly inaudible call across a meadow and through a stand of date palms. The land sloped down in a diminishing series of dunes, and he plowed through the loose sand and brush. The breeze on his face grew stronger by the moment.

The ground dropped away beneath his feet. He tumbled down the face of the last dune, all arms and legs and kicked-up sand, a tough vine of beach pea wrapping 'round his rolling body as he went.

The ground levelled off. Spitting grit, Jack wrenched the vine from about him. He slapped sand and bits of dune grass from his clothes and stood.

The sea's voice was loud and clear. He looked up, and there was the curve of the horizon, smiling welcome. He stumbled the last few yards to where the tide smoothed the sand for him.

There-- a foam-ruffled wavelet slid up and circled his bare brown ankles, cool as a kiss. There was a hot leaden ball choking him that had nothing to do with running himself ragged. The sea coaxed him to sit, so he did, his legs turning to water and dropping him with a sudden splash.

The heavy wool breeches instantly wicked up saltwater, soggy ballast that anchored him to the shallows. No matter-- he weren't going anywhere anytime soon. He trailed his hands through the water, stroking it with grubby fingers, while the wind dried the sweat on his skin and in his hair.

The deacon's wife had cut his hair, had scraped it back into a tidy queue and tied it with a leather thong. He'd never had any need for his hair to be cut before. He sneaked one hand up and tugged at the cord.

"You want to look like a little gentleman when you go in before the magistrate," the deacon's wife had said, her sour little mouth prissed up tight like a raisin.

He hadn't either-- he'd wanted only to look like who he was, John Michael's little lad. "Brave lad," Mick had called him in the thick of the fight.

He tugged harder. The wind and sweat had snarled his hair, wrapping strands around the thong tighter than dried kelp. The hot leaden lump in his chest swelled.

"I want it out!" Jack shouted. In sudden fury, he tore at the thong with both hands, ripping out strands of hair. "I'm_not_ a gentleman!"

The thong were knotted too tight-- it wouldn't untie, and it wouldn't slide free without him ripping out every hair by the roots. Jack rocked with rage, churning the water into froth.

"Da! Come get this damned cord outta me hair!" he roared.

The words cracked across the water, startling the sea into holding her breath. Jack's breath caught as well-- the words hung there over the aquamarine waters, taunting him.

"Da... "

The sea breathed again, exhaling a wave to lap the forlorn huddled figure, and the wind batted away his demand into scattered motes.

The hot leaden lump exploded in a molten burst. Jack tipped sideways, his tears mixing with the sea's.

'Brave lad', indeed.

No, he weren't brave, not a bit of it.  
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Persa had swum beneath the surface the entire length of the land as Mam had ordered. She wasn't usually so obedient... but Mam's song had frightened her. The humans fascinated her; but like most wild things, they often behaved in strange and unpredictable ways. She'd heard the stories of how they turned without warning, lashing out with the fierceness of a moray, a reef shark.

Poor lovesick Adia, trailing that sailor all the way up the coastline current to the cloudy cold grey, only to have him bury a harpoon in her ribs when she showed herself at last.

And Bayrn, cleaved by one of their iron spheres, when all he'd been trying to do was return their toddling young one to the deck of their sailing vessel.

She shook her head, the ends of her hair tickling the itchy band where skin meshed with scales. They were beautiful, fascinating creatures... and fearsome and unfathomable as well.

The white sand sloped upward, shadowy arms of the reefs reaching out to draw her in. She'd arrived at the cove Mam sent her to wait in when the humans made her nervous. Persa somersaulted through the water-- she liked to pretend she was a hoop, spinning along like the small humans sometimes did with their wooden circlets and sticks.

Of course, she was too buoyant to really roll across the ocean floor. But it was fun to pretend she was playing a human game.

She drew in a breath and released it as bubbles, to see them spiral behind her as she spun. It looked pretty, like a string of beads, so she drew in another.

And nearly choked at the bitterness on her tongue.

Persa stopped rolling and flipped upright. Her tongue flicked out to taste again.

Bitter. Bitter-salt-sorrow-tears.

Something was sad. Beyond sad. Broken-lost-grieving.

Something up in the cove.

Nothing ever came to the cove. That was why it was Persa's safe-place-to-wait. But it had been a strange day.

All those humans, schooled together in a mass inside that structure.

And the evil-hate taste on the current.

She spun in circles, torn. Mam wouldn't want her staying in the cove if there was a human in it. Young Folk weren't permitted contact with humans. On the other hand, it didn't taste of evil-hate-cruelty. It tasted as if evil-hate-cruelty had been done to _it._

Mam liked to study the humans, because she said the way to avoid them was to understand them. Persa would perhaps be doing Mam a favor by investigating the source of this sorrowful current, to learn why it leaked sadness.

_Yes! _Persa sang. She beat the water, streaming up the sloping white ocean floor. _I'll be helping Mam in her studies!_

Unutterably pleased with herself, Persa broke surface near the reef and steadied herself with one hand laid lightly on a rock.

The cove curved sweetly before her, a round shell-bowl shallow enough that she could slide up onto the white sand to the brilliant flowers nodding in the sun. Last visit, she had woven their soft stems into a sweet-scented crown, though afterward the salt water had bruised the petals far too quickly.

Today, there was a crumpled bundle on the damp swath between worlds.

Human vessels often broke apart when Poseidan felt testy, and the bits that the Folk had no interest in would wash ashore. There they'd lie abandoned, until other humans happened upon them or the birds picked them apart.

This was no flotsam from the sea, though; this had been discarded by the land. The sea was trying to wash away the bitter-salt-sorrow-tears taste trailing from it, trying to blanket it with warm water.

Persa pushed off the rock and circled slowly closer to the bundle. It didn't move. She touched bottom and circled back, to its other side, drawing nearer. It was a human-- she could see the legs, half-buried in the sand where the tide had withdrawn. A small human. About her size, if she stretched out on the sand beside it.

And soaked to its core with grief...

The sorrow drew her right up out of the waves, past the border where sea thinned away to sand and onto the damp shore where he lay. Face down on the beach, one hand tucked under his cheek, the other stretched above his head and closed tight on a fistful of wet sand. Eyes closed, but back rising and falling in the way of humans who had not breathed in the sea.

She reached out to touch him. He didn't move-- humans slept so _hard._ The Folk woke at the slightest flicker, but with humans, sometimes it was difficult to tell if they were asleep or dead.

This one was warm, not cold with slipping skin. His skin was firm and brown, he gave off bitter-salt-tears and something else, a hot-stinging taste like Poseidan's anger, and his hair...

Persa stretched out one trembling finger and traced a strand wonderingly.

His hair was as inky as a cloud of the tentacled ones' defenses.

The Folk in these waters all had hair the color of sunlight or dawn skies, shades from palest pearlglow to deepest coral. Never the color of the night sea.

She slid her whole hand up into his hair, marvelling at the contrast against her pale skin. It felt the same as hers, as Mam's, but the _color_... She stroked, and her fingers caught on a knot. She leaned in closer.

He had a strip of hide tangled in the dark strands, that bunched them up into a messy clump at the back of his neck. Hair that had been ripped out of his scalp was snarled in the tightly-knotted strip.

No wonder he was sad, with an ugly thing like that binding up his dark, dark hair!

The sea had wiped his face clean, cooled the heat of his anger and loss, and soothed him to slumber with the rhythm of the waves. But the sea hadn't been able to untie the thong knotted by hostile hands. Persa hummed softly, a low vibrato. _I'll get it out for you. A moment, please._

Nimble fingers teased at the Gorgon's knot. Hair slid free, strand by strand. The cord loosened, and slipped off the end of the tail.

_There._ Persa combed away the queue with her fingers. _Now the wind can reach it._

His hair fell across his face and she pushed it back, unable to resist the temptation. It was so dark, but the color didn't smudge off on her fingers like ink or mollusk's dye. Caked sand sprinkled down, and she slid her fingers through again, brushing it away.

A wave stretched up and up the sand, though the tide was out. It nearly touched his toes. Persa flipped over and watched it straining in an attempt to reach him.

The sea wanted him. Not to devour and drain, but with something akin to the sound of Mam calling Persa home. And-- this was the oddest part-- there was beneath the sorrow a taste that said he belonged to the sea. Persa ran the tip of her tongue around her lips, licking off the scent.

Tide-wind-brine-water. Human though he was, he gave off the familiar taste of a sea dweller.

Persa reached to touch his leg, bare below the rough breeches. She half-expected the sleek coolness of one whose heart and blood were meant for underwater kingdoms, but no, he radiated a land-dweller's warmth.

He must be one of those human creatures who sailed about the seas on their floating vessels. She'd never been able to get so close to one before-- the vessels' surfaces towered high above the waves, and they cut through the water so quickly, faster than dolphins, faster than winged fish.

A puff of wind snatched at his hair and blew it across his face. Persa smoothed it back. It was too short to stay tucked behind his shoulder, and it fell across his face once more.

_How do you keep it out of your eyes?_ she questioned. _Out on the open water, it must always get in your way._

Her song didn't wake him. The wind dashed his hair into his eyes once again, and once again she tucked it back, only to see it again tossed over his face by the restless breeze.

Almost without thinking, her hand strayed to her own hair. It wasn't nearly as remarkably long as Mam's, but already was embellished with charms from the sea-- shells, sand-smoothed pebbles, loops of polished bone, with threads of colorful seaweeds securing them and weaving through her hair.

Persa sorted through the amulets until she touched the one tying off her braided forelock. She smoothed the flat disk between thumb and forefinger.

Yes, this one would do nicely.

Her fingers worked at more knots. She scooted closer to the small human, gathered up a measure of his hair, and sorted it into four strands. Deftly, she began weaving it into a tight round braid, that mirrored her own.

_This shell is from the curious southern waters far, far around the land barrier,_ she told him as she worked. _A magical distance from these waters. Because fetching it here was such a task, it carries strong protective powers._

She threaded the hole drilled in the disk with the tough strands of mussel beards, plaited the charm into the supple braid, and tied off the end with more strands. _There. My Papa gave it to me, but I think you are a lost sea-kin. You need it more than me._

The charm was carved from the deep blue interior of an exotic shell, as gleaming as her scales. It looked utterly at home against his ink-colored hair. Persa smiled and ran the braid over her hand. The end dropped through her fingers and fell against his brown cheek.

And that tiny tap somehow reached through his slumber and woke him. Before Persa could scrape back down the sand to the water's sanctuary, his eyes popped open.


	3. Sea kin

Iridescence

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Sea-Kin

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Jack were standing at the _Siren's_ rail, arm crooked about a line, the wind ruffling his hair. Salt spray ran in runnels down his cheeks. He leaned over, searching the waves below. The flying fishes were keening some sort of uncanny music, and he wanted-- no, he _needed--_ to catch a glimpse of them.

Da stepped up behind him and pinched his neck hard with his fingernails. "Fly, boy," he said, and Jack turned in astonishment.

Da's face were black as a plum, his eyes starting from his head, his tongue thick and protruding.

Terror gripped his guts, and Jack flung himself headlong over the side.

The sea rushed up to meet him. She were flat and hard as a deck seen from the crow's nest, and he were about to smash down upon her and be dashed to bits.

A flying fish whizzed past, giving his cheek a tap with its tail-tip that jolted him right down to his very bones.

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Jack woke with a start.

He were mired on the beach, parched and gritty. The back of his neck were stinging hot where the sun had penetrated his newly shorn hair.

Something moved behind him. He pushed up and rolled over. His eyes were swollen, rimmed with sand, and he blinked hard. And then blinked again in disbelief.

It were a girl-- a _naked_ girl. Just a young'un, but _still..._ He shook his head, trying to chase the fog from his vision.

Something tapped his cheek. He raised a hand to swat it away, but it were swinging from his hair, so he caught it and pulled it forward. It were smooth as glass, cool as the morning tide. It prickled in his fingers like setting sail for a new horizon.

A lock of hair alongside his face had been braided tightly, the polished disk of what looked like shell from the South Seas laced to the end. Jack squeezed the trinket in his fist, and a storm-surge of tingling rushed up his arm into his chest. Startled, he dropped it and looked back at the girl.

She had retreated down the sand and was sitting waist-deep in the cove, watching him warily.

Jack flicked the braid. "You... " His voice came out a froggy croak. He cleared his throat. "You do this?"

She cocked her head in an attitude of not understanding.

He pinched up the braid 'tween his fingers and shook it. "This. Did you do this with me hair?"

Her expression brightened and she swept long wet hair the color of mahogany over her own shoulders. It was adorned with seashells and other underwater baubles, and she lifted her braided forelock and shook it back at Jack.

He weren't sure if she were replying or simply parroting his action. But it seemed likely this peculiar girl-child had plaited one of her trinkets into his hair while he slept. Why, he couldn't fathom.

Then something occurred to him, and his hands flew back up to his hair. The queue was gone! Somehow as he'd slept, his hair had been freed from that cursed thong.

He looked back at the girl. "You got it out."

Again that puzzled head-cock. Jack ruffled his hair. "You got that bloody cord untied, didn't you?"

She pointed then, and Jack looked down. By the shallow hollow in the sand where his head had rested lay the strip of leather. He snatched it up, fury suddenly blazing. He leaped up and hurled it viciously into the water. "Poseidan take it!"

He fell back, panting, with a little 'splash' into the shallows. The girl was smiling, and Jack scowled at her. "What? You think I'm playing? Wish Poseidan had swallowed up that whole bloody town-- that deacon, and his ugly ol' wife, and that magistrate or whatever damned thing he were. And 'specially that damned... bloody... fort."

His voice were wobbling dangerously. He grabbed up the only thing near to hand-- wet sand-- and heaved it over the water. "Poseidan take it all!"

She scooted right up next to him in the water, and he could see her eyes, grey like the sea in storm, corners uptilted like a Celestial's and liquid with sorrow. Her hair veiled her nakedness, he noted with some relief, but she had positively _ropes_ of pearls draped 'round her waist. They glowed against skin the color of ivory. And-- Triton's tears-- was that a _fin_?

Jack was edging sideways when she opened her mouth and warbling music poured out.

He froze and gaped at her.

She was gesturing, little fluttering motions of her fingers, but his gaze was fixed on her mouth. She cocked her head again and trilled a short burst of-- something-- that could be called song.

If song had the melody of the sea, the chorus of the waves, the harmony of the deep in its underpinnings.

Mesmerized, his leeriness forgotten, he raised one hand and touched her lips. "How do you do that?"

She blinked tip-tilted eyes, the sorrow replaced by delight, and lilted again.

"Who _are_ you?"

The perplexed head-cock again. Jack tapped his chest. "I'm Jack. Jack Sparrow."

She chirped a note, a sound that might have carried the soft burr of a leading "J", the ending click of "ck".

"Jack."

She chirped again, and Jack found himself grinning. Mick would be crossin' himself forward and back had someone told him this tale, and Scup woulda cursed him for a liar, but it were all true!

A memory floated up, of a voyage 'round the Cape. The weather had been unusually mild, and the crew were all thanking their various gods for the good fortune. One moon-drenched night Da had brought him up on deck deep into the nightwatch.  
.

_"Listen."_

Melancholy song drifted on the moonbeams.

"Hear it, son?"

"Aye." An awed whisper. "What is it, Da?"

"Whales." John Michael's teeth flashed white. "Mermaids."

"Truly?"

"Mayhap, son."

"Where? I wanna see!"

Da shifted his grip so Jack could peer over the rail. "Keep your eyes peeled then. They don't often show themselves to men. Not many as can hear 'em, either."

Jack nodded at the queer girl now. "That's right. Jack. An' who might you be?" He punctuated the query with a tap on the top of her breastbone.

She carolled a two-note sound, bubble-pop, wave-hiss, that he couldn't possibly duplicate. So he nodded genially to her as Da would have done.

"Pleased t'meet you. No one's going to be believing me, but 'tis nice anyways." His fingers again found the charm dangling by his chin. "And this is a far sight nicer'n what that ol' witch tied into me hair."

She smiled at him, a wide smile like the horizon, and he felt strangely comforted. Then she pointed at him, at the spot where he'd lain, and cocked her head while sweeping her arm in a wide arc that encompassed the cove, the land behind it, the sea before it. She trilled something that put him in mind of restless questions.

_Where have you been? Where are you going? What will be the next port, and the one after?_

He found all his grief crashing down 'round him again. "I don't know. Don't know where to go. Don't know what I'm doing. Da's dead-- they hanged him, y'see, and they were going to make me stay and apprentice in town. Same as they're wanting to take Isabella's babe and farm it out. And I won't stay there, but Cap'n's dead too, and... "

The whole sorry tale spilled out. He weren't even sure why-- this queer girl couldn't savvy his words, she hadn't even the sense to put on a shift. She were daft or something, piping whale-song at him and running loose draped in a queen's ransom of pearls just begging to be pilfered.

But she just sat there in the water with her head cocked and her tip-tilted eyes shiny with moisture, as if she were listening to every word. And once or twice she licked her bottom lip and her eyes grew even sadder, as if she were grieving right along with him.

"...and the porridge were _horrible_ stuff not fit for hogslop and I'm thirsty as the Devil's own legions on top of it," Jack finished, clutching his stomach. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and flopped back on his elbows, spent.

The queer girl rolled sideways and disappeared. Jack sat bolt upright, his chin near unhinged. She'd just dropped out of sight 'neath the waves, and this time he'd swear on spit and blood he'd seen a fin.

He scrubbed at his eyes with salt-stained shirt cuffs. The sun and heat and thirst were making him daft, for sure. Or seeing Da snared and swung had addled his wits.

Fins and seasong and naked girls in pearls, indeed.

Some half-wit child cast out to beg and gibber nonsense, more like.

Before he could work out if he should beat a hasty retreat or not, she were back, popping up in the shallows slick as a seal. She dumped a double hands-full of wet shells at the water's edge and beamed at him.

Jack edged closer and poked at the heap. Oysters. Well, all right, he'd eaten oysters 'afore. There were one teensy problem, though.

He patted at his waist and down the sides of the breeches. They'd taken his knife from him when they'd rounded up the remnants of the crew. His wrist still ached from the punch of that swordhilt. He rubbed it absently and glared at the smugly obstinant shellfish.

Mayhap he could smash 'em open on the rocks.

The queer girl made a chirruping sound and scooped one oyster between her palms. She did something-- dug her fingers into the cleft dividing the two halves, then pressed and twisted with the heels of her hands-- and the oyster opened with a wet 'pop'. She caught his eye and raised the bottom half to her lips, tossing back the contents as if draining a tankard. She smacked her lips, flashed him a sharp-toothed grin, and reached for a second oyster. This one, once opened, she offered to him.

Their hands brushed when Jack reached to take it. She felt like a smooth, cool fish. He tucked that thought away for later and swallowed the contents of the shell.

It had a clean, briny taste, and most pleasing of all-- it were _wet._ The girl was already offering another, and Jack dropped the empty shell and slurped down the next. The oyster liquor quenched his thirst and soothed the raw feeling in his throat. Fast as the girl could open them, Jack gulped them down.

When all the shells lay empty beside him, he sat back with a sated sigh and swiped his mouth on his sleeve.

"Thank you," he told the girl. He pointed at the oyster shells, patted his stomach, and repeated, "Thank you."

She may not have understood the words, but she heard the meaning behind them. She smiled happily and trilled another song-burst at him. It sounded again like the kinds of questions the tides whispered-- _"Why stay ashore? Will you not come a-wand'rin with me? Where is your ship?"_

Jack still didn't know the answers, but with food in his belly and a companion of sorts, he no longer felt as cut adrift as he had. He took a deep, steadying breath. "Me Da's dead. I'll not stay here with them that killed him. But first I have to find me a ship ready to make sail. I can't be going back to the town docks-- redcoats'll be checkin' all the outbound passengers." He slid a sideways glance at the girl. "You wouldn't happen to be knowing of any ships 'roundabout these parts, would you?"

She did that incomprehending head-cock again.

"A ship," Jack enunciated. "Do-you-know-where-there-be-a-ship?"

Grey eyes blinked. Small tongue-tip peeked out, swiped her bottom lip, and frown-lines appeared between her brows.

"Ship. Schooner. Carvel. _Boat._"

Still no understanding. Jack huffed an exasperated breath. He jumped up and strode to the wrack-line for a bit of twig or beachgrass stem. Finding a dried palm frond, he moved to a stretch of unmarked wet sand and motioned the girl over. She glided nearer, but stayed far enough in the water that the waves still lapped around her waist.

Jack quickly sketched the outline of a ship into the smooth sand. He added a mast and full sails, and wavy lines to represent water.

The girl clapped her hands and made a crowing noise that made Jack jump with its wildness. She shot backwards quick as a lobster until the water reached her shoulders, and beckoned Jack to join her.

_Oh, no, he weren't._ He shook his head. Pointing to the drawing, then to himself, he said, "A _ship._ You see? I want to find one'a those to sail away on, not go swimming with, with... fishes and the like."

She slapped the water and gestured again, more insistantly. Jack sighed, shrugged, and waded out into the cove. She motioned him down, and he knelt so the water rose to his chest.

She swirled her fingers 'round and 'round, gathering inward. Jack blinked. The water seemed to thicken into opaque strands, threads that rolled together to form a loose ball. They drew in, and stretched outward. Jack squinted hard. The girl stared intently at him. She dipped one finger into the amorphous shape and gave it a little stir.

His head jerked. For a second, a ghostly ship sailed in an azure bubble under the water, much like a miniature ship constructed inside a bottle he'd seen once. His breath caught. "How...?"

He blinked, and the image melted away. He could scarce breathe. "How did you do that?"

She were grinning delightedly at him, as if _he_ had done something clever. Tentatively, he put out one finger, touched where the ghost ship had been.

All he felt were warm seawater.

"How did you _do_ that?"

Mayhap it were all a fever-dream. Fever-'n-ague did that to a soul, gave you wildly fantastic dreams.

Aye, that might be dandy, to wake and find the whole of the last week had been a bloody nightmare.

Jack pushed backwards until he rested on the sand again, legs stretched out in the lapping waves. He stabbed his finger at his ship drawing, at the water in front of the girl, at the drawing on the sand again. "_That's_ what I want, a ship. I want to find a ship to sail away on, 'til this nightmare breaks. You know where to find one? 'Cause otherwise, 'tis ta and I'll be walking on."

She swooshed forward in a sudden surge of power, water streaming back over both shoulders. She caught his hand in a cool, hard grip of deceptive strength. The girl reversed direction with another mighty surge, and Jack found himelf being towed out into the cove at remarkable speed.

The water was pouring past his legs in a strong current. Before he could muster his wits, they were out of the cove and cutting through the deeper swells of the open ocean, heading out, away from land.

For some reason, he weren't the least bit a'scared.


	4. Here be dragons

Iridescence

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Here Be Dragons

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He was seeking a sailing vessel.

She'd been right, he was a sea-traveller, one who'd become separated from his clan. No wonder he grieved, cut off from his means of roving the great wide open. She would grieve too, should she be prevented from swimming free.

Persa held tight to his funny warm hand and pulled him along. At first when they'd crossed into the open sea, he'd flailed his free arm and made alarming choking sounds. She slowed at once, belatedly remembering humans, even ones marked as kin of the sea, did not breathe water.

_Sorry!_ she thrummed at him.

He hacked out a throat-full of seawater, gasped something wheezy. She wished she knew his speech. Mam knew some human words, but she said it was needlessly complex-- they had at least a hands-worth of words that meant "sea" for instance, and another hands-worth for "sky". Mam suspected they were like the whales, who had a different language for each pod.

He tugged his hand free of hers, and Persa spun, eyes going wide. He didn't try to swim away from her, though; he gave a little kick so he was behind her again, and rested his hands on her shoulders. He said something, his breath a warm puff against her cheek, and gave his feet a little flutter.

She grinned back at him, her game young human, and pushed off against the sea. His body rode the waves easily now, tucked in her wake. She pushed again, building speed, and felt her tail-tip graze his toes.

A deep jolt shivered through him, as though he'd grasped the head of a shock-eel. But he didn't shriek nor wrench away from her. She felt his fingers slide against her skin, warmth meeting cool, and when her tongue flicked, she tasted only an absorbed curiosity.

She adjusted her course so that the land was on her left cheek, the wind on her right, and pressed on.

She knew exactly where to take this lostling.

As Mam had led the way from the deep green to the chunk of land where the humans schooled, they'd passed beneath the shadow of a large vessel. Great hooks of iron snagged the seafloor, with stretched-taut ropes of coarse fiber linking them to the wooden hull and pinning it in place. Persa had veered off to circle one of the hooks, her palm scraping the crusted metal. She'd tilted her head back, eyeing the elongated shadow far above. One hand grasped the rope; she'd swung round it, one circuit, two... A wiggle of her tail, and she was moving upward as she spun, an aimless game that just so happened to nudge her closer to the humans floating above...

_Persa!_

Mam's trill had sliced through the sunny aquamarine water.

_Come away from there at once._

She'd released the anchor rope and fluttered along in Mam's wake, outwardly obedient, but inwardly seething with curiosity.

How lucky that they had passed close enough for her to mark the vessel's location! For surely it had misplaced one of its sailors, and by great good chance Persa had found him! All that was needed now was to reunite them.

They surged along, her human's hands making little heated patches like sunshine on her shoulders, her hair-charms and pearl belt flicking against him. Every once in a while, he said something, amazement overlaying his taste.

_Zh'ckk._ What an unusual combination of sounds for a name. Oh, but he was a smart one, her oddly-named human! For he could _hear_ her-- not just air-sounds when she repeated his name, but her song as well. Most of them were deaf as rocks to song. Persa gave a jubilent leap and arced through a clear crystal-green wave.

His hands tightened on her shoulders and he followed her down. Persa abruptly realized her error and surfaced, trilling contritely.

_Sorry, sorry! I forgot!_

He came up coughing, but then he surprised her by laughing aloud. She craned around at him, and he was grinning, his eyes all crinkled up with excitement. He pushed at her shoulders with a little rocking motion and said something, something eager-sounding.

_Again?_ Persa asked, and perhaps he caught her meaning, for he jiggled her shoulders impatiently.

She twisted out of his grasp so they bobbed in the waves face-to-face. She held up her hand to catch his attention and very obviously drew in a long draught of air and held it, puffing out her cheeks. Sternly, she pointed at him.

_Hold your air,_ she sang.

He nodded, took a deep breath, and puffed his own cheeks out at her.

She giggled at his expression. Pleased that he'd understood, Persa turned forward again. His hands fell to her shoulders. She beat against the water, and they surged ahead, building speed.

This time when Persa gathered for a dive, she felt his chest swell with air a split second before she leaped. They arched through the clear green wave, and he followed her over and down, through water streaked with bars of sunlight. Down and down, hair and pearls streaming back and tangling him to her, and then curving up again to break into golden sunlit air.

She could taste his exhiliaration on the spray raining down around them. She swirled her tail, felt it slide past his leg, and they were off again, working up to speed, leaping to arc through a high roller.

She'd played this game time and again with the dolphins, but never had she imagined a human could play, too. He was special, this one-- he could hear song, he could see image-art. He could porpoise through the water like he was half-fish.

He didn't fear her kind.

They surf-skipped all the way around the head of the island, leaping and diving and crowing into the wind with such abandon Persa forgot why they'd been heading north in the first place. Her human playmate seemed just as caught up in the game-- the bitter-salt-sorrow-tears taste had almost completely washed away, and he'd laughed aloud more than once as they surfaced. She rolled through the water with him, feeling him relax and ride along with the water instead of fighting it.

The current changed, bringing an earthy undertone to the mix of tastes. Persa halted abruptly mid-dive, remembered her passenger, and shot to the surface.

They popped up just offshore. The land here was dense with greenery, bisected by a freshwater creek. It lent a distinctly different flavor to the ocean.

Her human made a sound, and the sorrowful taste flooded back, edged with... hunger. Yearning. Not wistful, but resolute.

She twisted to see what had caused this sudden change.

His hand dropped off her shoulder. He shook water from his eyes, and they focused out beyond the reefs, where the sea was still deep enough for safe passage.

Out to where a vessel was anchored to the seafloor, rolling gently side to side on the tide.

.o.

Jack had been raised on fish tales. They'd lulled him to sleep, entertained him when becalmed, thrilled him on stormy winter nights. They'd bolstered him through a particularly nasty bout of the measles off the coast of Portugal once.

His favorite yarn had been that of an old salt who claimed to have dropped anchor far up north in the colonies one night, accidentally hooking the jaw of a sleeping whale. The whale had jolted awake and taken off, towing the old man's fishing boat at greater and greater speeds. The angrier the whale got the faster it swam, until the boat had skimmed the waves faster than an osprey could dive.

Jack always thought it must be glorious to sail at such frantic speeds, with the wind in your face and the sea at your feet. Clinging to the odd girl while she raced through the waves like a dolphin had given him a taste of what it must be like.

He didn't know for certain whether she were sea-nymph or half fish. She were too wild and strange to be human, that he knew. And there were something satisfying about that.

He were right sick of people after today.

For a few carefree moments, he'd actually forgot Da were gone forever. Not for long, a'course... just for a bit while the girl had pulled him down through the sea and up into the air, diving and bursting out over and over 'til they were all mixed and mingled and for a minute there he couldn't tell were he breathing water or air.

And then she'd stopped and a ship were sitting not a league away, all by its lonesome. No redcoats paced her deck; she flew no Union Jack.

And the reason for being in the water with no Da or Cap'n or _Siren_ nearby came crashing over him with the force of a storm surge.

She looked like a fine ship-- sturdy and trim, no neglect he could see. He was desperate, but not desperate enough to sail under a bad ship's master.

He'd let loose of the girl without noticing, and was drifting away from the island on a current. He paddled to keep from getting swept 'round the point, and saw that the current was fed by a stream flowing off the island. He could see boats pulled up onto the strand, and men rolling barrels down the beach toward the boats.

The ship was taking on fresh water. He'd best hurry then, a'fore they finished loading the barrels and unfurled sail.

Jack struck out for the anchored ship.

The girl followed, warbling from time to time in a melancholy sort of way. He reckoned she didn't want their game to end, and jolly it had been... but he weren't staying on this cursed isle. He fixed his eyes on the ship and paddled harder.

It was a longer swim than he figured on, and he was breathing hard and coughing a bit when he finally reached her. Jack bobbed up and down in the swells, trying to keep from being dashed against the hull. The girl surfaced silently beside him, only her slant-wise eyes showing above the waterline. She caught hold of his arm, steadying him.

She cocked her head and blinked-- "What now?" she seemed to be asking.

Jack nodded up at the ship. "Best find a ladder," he murmered. He pulled loose of her grasp and paddled alongside the ship. He'd rounded the stern and started up the other side when he saw a ladder dangling over the side, a-waiting the return of the shore crew.

"There!" A weight rolled off his chest. He launched forward, determined to reach it and climb aboard.

A flicker in the water checked him. The girl was at his side again, blinking sadly. Jack pointed.

"I'll be going now. I'll climb aboard and sail away once the water's loaded. Ships always need boys."

She rose a bit out of the sea, studying the ladder, following with her eyes the way it scaled the towering wooden hull, and she nodded. She turned back to Jack and trilled.

The sound washed over him like fair winds and salt spray. It were a blessing of sorts, he were sure of it, and his throat felt raw all of a sudden, like swallowing seawater.

"Thank you, Miss, for bringing me to this 'ere ship." He hoped she savvied somehow. The sea's rocking tapped the sea-charm against his chin, and he touched it lightly. "Thank you for giving me this, too."

She looked all sorrowful-like, and mayhap she were sorry to part ways from him. It were a strange feeling, to have someone mourn his leaving. Jack's eyes prickled, and he quickly looked down.

Then he spied something that put a thought into his head. His shirt was begged from the local gentry by that bloody church deacon, and as such it was the finest-- though heaviest-- garment he'd ever worn. The front and sleeves fastened up with buttons of silvery metal instead of the usual bone or wood.

Jack seized the top button in his strong brown fingers. He twisted it 'round and 'round, and at last the threads gave way and pulled loose. Quickly he twisted free a second button.

"Here." He found the girl's smooth cool hand beneath the waves and pressed the buttons into it. "These're for you."

Her eyes widened and her mouth rounded. She made a shrill squeaking sound and gazed enraptured at the shiny disks in her palm. Feeling slightly embarrassed-- they were only _buttons,_ and second-hand ones at that-- Jack shrugged and ducked away. The girl were burbling and carrying on like he'd handed her treasure. He frog-kicked his way to the ladder.

He was reaching up over his head for it when he felt a sudden rush past his feet. The girl swirled up from the depths-- he got a quick, confused glimpse of storm-grey eyes, ivory skin, a shower of hair-trinkets-- he felt a cool brush along his cheek-- and then she arced beneath the waves. Pearl ropes gleamed pale against blue-green scales; tail-fins trailed like wet lace.

She were gone. He could feel the emptiness about him. A shiver chased down his spine, and then Jack Sparrow stretched and seized the lowest rung, and hauled himself up out of the warm sea.

.o.

"Where in d'hell did you spring from?"

Jack stood straight and tall under the glare of the Captain. A sailor had spied him the second he'd clambered over the side, and had hauled him stumbling and dripping down the deck. He'd rapped at a door until another man had briefly stuck out his head; and finally this stern, stocky gentleman had flung open the door to stand glaring at Jack from under white-blond eyebrows.

Jack pointed back down the deck. "I came up the side. Sir," he thought to add.

"You're drippin' on my decks, boy."

"Aye, sir. I swum out."

"Did you now. For what purpose, pray?"

"I want to join your crew, sir."

The Captain smothered a laugh and instead studied the bedraggled boy with narrowed eyes. "Must have a powerful urge to sail under my colors to have you swimming across d'lagoon to get here."

"Aye, sir."

"What makes you t'ink I'm needin' a snot-nosed, undersized little brat clutterin' up my ship, eh?"

Jack stood even straighter. "I'm a good hard worker, sir. I can keep lookout and splice line and raise sail. Can carry powder, sir, and load it, too. I'm not a'feared of climbing rigging nor shifting cargo in the deepest hold."

"Mighty fine-lookin' duds you're wearin' for a hard worker." The Captain poked Jack's belly. "You run off from some highborn family?"

"No, sir. Deacon gave me these clothes."

"Oh, aye? T'en you're on the skip from some land-locked orphan asylum?"

Jack shook his head and the braided charm flashed in the sun. "No, sir. Ships've been me home as far back as I remember. Mine's gone and wrecked now, else I'd not be looking. I can do just about whatever needs doing, even scrub decks and scrape cookpots."

"I reckon that's all you'd be good for," the Captain commented absently. His eyes were on the swaying trinket. He stretched out a knarled forefinger and caught the azure disk upon it. Jack cut his eyes sideways without moving. From the corner of his eye he could see the Captain studying it with an inscrutable expression on his seamed face.

Abruptly the man let the shell drop. "Aye, t'en. I am Captain Marius. Welcome aboard d' _Lady Batavia..._ what's your name?"

"Jack, sir."

"Jack what?"

"Just Jack, sir," Jack replied stoutly.

Marius frowned down at him. He rubbed his thumb across his forefinger as if wiping away a distasteful residue. He jerked a quick nod.

"Well t'en, Jus' Jack, I hope you've said your goodbyes, because d' _Lady Batavia_ won't wait on you returnin' ashore. Get yourself below to d'man in d'middle cabin, Joos van Schley; he's been commissioned mapmaker on t'is voyage. He may have need of some fetch 'n carry from you in between deck scrubbin' and slops emptyin'. He's d'patience to lay out what's expected of you in regards to behavior and duties, too."

And Jack nodded up at his new Cap'n, backed away, then turned and scurried off before the man could change his mind and toss him overboard. The _Lady Batavia_ rocked comfortingly beneath his bare feet.

At the hatch, he put one foot on the belowdecks ladder. Something made him pause. He withdrew the foot, cast a quick glance around, and seeing no eyes upon him, sneaked to the rail. He craned over the side.

There-- bobbing a'stern were a swirl of reddish seaweed. Jack waved to it, and it raised up, forming into the pale oval of a faced framed by streaming hair. He waved again.

A small ivory hand rose from the waves and gave a tentative waggle. Then, gaining confidence, it waved back harder.

Jack pushed himself up onto the rail on his stomach. He leaned out over the water. "Thank you!" he called down.

The girl waved again, then shot both hands overhead to form a peak. With a blue-green glimmer, she arced up and over in a hasty dive, and vanished.

A shadow fell over Jack. He jerked 'round to see a fellow crewman looming over him.

"Who ye talkin' to, boy?"

Jack opened, then closed, his mouth. He slid down off the rail and shrugged. "No one."

"On your way, then. Cap'n said for ye to get below."

"Aye-aye." Jack ducked around the sailor.

Before he'd taken more'n a step, the wind carried to his ears a wisp of siren-song. The sailor walked on, oblivious. But Jack smiled and hugged the secret to himself.

_Fair seas to you, sea-kin. Fare thee well._


End file.
